


After Breakfast

by peterplanet



Category: tom holland - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Smut, but mainly porn without plot lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 14:58:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18625582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterplanet/pseuds/peterplanet
Summary: in which she tells tom how badly she wants him.





	After Breakfast

She’s cautious when she first approaches him. Footsteps hesitant, eyes cast towards the slope of his jaw, the curve of his nose. She wants to commit him to memory, wants to remember the way that he looks when he’s so blissfully unaware of his own beauty.

She studies the steady rise and fall of his chest. If she didn’t know him any better, she’d suppose that he’s about to fall asleep; but she’s studied him for the past three months, knows him so intimately that it sends an ache straight to her core to know just what that definition of  _intimate_ entails.

Maybe it’s stupid for her to be so nervous. Maybe she shouldn’t be, considering how they just had sex the night before, considering how he’d teased her this morning.

_“What d’you want to eat, Tom?” It was the first time that she was in his kitchen, the first time that she’d woken up in his bed the morning after in their three-month relationship. It felt intimate to be making breakfast with him, and while that seemed silly to think about, she knew that it was a really big step for the both of them._

_Tom was a private person. He didn’t like sharing (Y/N) with the world and having her be with him for three months without any slip ups or break ups felt like a big thing to him. It felt like she might be the type of girl that he could see himself with when he thought long-term._

_They’d been taking things slow. Sure, they’d had sex before and they’d definitely done_ other _things before the previous night, but they’d never spent the night with each other. It felt like a lot to have her in his kitchen in the morning, but it wasn’t a bad thing. Rather, they both felt as though it spoke volumes about how far they’d come as a couple._

_No longer were they the nervous boy at a bar and the designated driver on a girl’s-night-out. They had transcended those labels, traded first-minute observations for names in each other’s phones. But, still, sometimes they fell back into those roles and felt the same nervous butterflies as they had that first meeting. Neither of them suspected that they’d go away any time soon, though; at least, not in their relationship._

_“Mm, you’d be a pretty good meal,” Tom remarked with a cheeky grin._

_When she turned around to playfully yell at him, perhaps swat his arm, she found that the words died in her throat as he gave her his puppy-dog eyes and his shit-eating grin. Instead, her cheeks turned red and she averted her eyes from his. With a look like that, it’d only be a matter of time until she let him have his way._

_“You need something more sustaining, Tom,” she had reprimanded, her eyes soft and her heart beating wildly within her chest. “You’re still a growing boy.”_

_Her fragile attempt to dissuade him from his corrupt meal-plan only makes him let out a hearty chuckle. His brown eyes light up with a sudden mischief, his smug grin flickering over his features. This all builds a concoction that makes her knees weak and her stuttering heart flutter. It’s pathetic, she muses, how easily Tom can have her in the palm of his hand._

_“’m sure you’d be a pretty sustaining meal, darling,” he uses the nickname with full knowledge of how it makes her weak in the knees. She supposes that he does it on purpose, with the ulterior motive of getting his way eventually. “But pancakes are always a close second.”_

After that encounter, she’d been struggling against the heat in her core. She’d done everything to make it go away, to try and get it to stop. She’d done the dishes while listening to classical music after breakfast, tried to discuss the least-sexy things she could think of over breakfast with Tom. But, with the vision of him first sitting across from her at the table, and now with him on the couch, it was almost impossible to get the ache to go away.

He was so gorgeous without even trying. He didn’t have to think about how he looked, didn’t even have to know how beautiful he appeared for (Y/N) to want him like he’d threatened earlier. But her current hunger wasn’t for him to be between her thighs—no, she wanted to be between his.

In all honesty, it was probably a kink that she’d never discovered before Tom. She loved sucking him off, loved the power of it, loved hearing his breathless whines and feel him tugging at her hair as he struggled to keep his hips steady for her. She loved knowing that she had the power to make him just as weak as he made her.

In the moments leading up to it, though, she’s always nervous. She knows that Tom is almost never  _not_ in the mood, but that doesn’t mean that she isn’t afraid of rejection. She’s afraid of stepping towards him and being too bold, only for him to push her away and ask her to stop. This isn’t to say that she’d disrespect him, that she’d force herself on him; rather, (Y/N) fears that his rejection could trigger her anxiety in an embarrassing way.

“Tommy?” She calls for him, voice soft as she stands in between his legs.

It’s a bit redundant for her to call his name when he’s already looking up at her, already watching her with his puppy-dog stare. His hands are on her hips and his thumbs are rubbing soft circles into the skin of her hips. He’s holding her close to him, keeping her between his legs as he sits on the couch.

As he realizes that (Y/N) is waiting on him to say something, Tom gives a curious hum and raises a brow in her direction. “What’s wrong, darling?” He tries to keep his voice level, steady, but it’s hard when she’s painting the picture of innocence right in front of him.

She’s worrying her lower lip between her teeth, averting her gaze from his as she tries to keep herself from sounding too eager. At this point, Tom’s worried that he’s really done something to upset her—or, at least he was until she placed her hands over his that were holding her hips steady.

“I’m, well,” she tries shyly, her cheeks warm and her eyes focused on the ground beneath their feet.

“You know that you can tell me anything, sweet girl,” Tom soothes. He presses a kiss to her covered stomach in hopes of easing her mind, in hopes of calming her down a bit as she stands in front of him.

“I know!” She hastens to assure him, giving his hands a soft squeeze as she keeps hers over them. “I just, ever since you were teasing me this morning, I’ve been thinking about how I never got to go down on you last night. And you know how much I like to do that, Tom.”

Her eyes, (e/c) and hazy with desire, flicker up to meet his. She’s nervous, he can tell by the way she’s worrying her lip once more. But, he realizes that she has no reason to be. He’s always going to be in the mood to have sex with her, to go down on her, for anything with her so long as she keeps her gaze heavy and words laced with want. Tom doesn’t really believe that there could ever be a time that he would say  _no_ to being intimate with her.

“Mm, is that right? So, you’re trying to tell me that you’ve been thinking about sucking my cock all through breakfast?” The idea of his girlfriend—his sweet, lovely girlfriend—thinking about him in the way that he always does of her has his sweats feeling too tight around his cock.

(Y/N)’s cheeks are warm to the touch, her eyes hesitantly raising to meet his. “Yeah, I was,” she admits. It’s a bolder move than he’s used to her making and it takes him back a step, if only for a moment.

“Well, if you want me, all you ever have to do is ask.”

That seems to be all the reaffirming that she needs. In record time, (Y/N) is sinking down to her knees and undoing the string of his sweats to pull them down his thighs. He can tell that she’s debating whether or not to mention his lack of boxers, but she seems to decide against saying anything as she eagerly takes his tip into his mouth.

Tom’s taken back by this. Usually, she warms him up by stroking him in his hand and placing soft, open-mouth kisses along his stomach. Apparently, she’s not in the mood for taking it slow right now.

His complaints and teasing words die against his tongue as she runs her tongue against his slit, her (e/c) eyes peering up at him innocently. Before he can get a word out, say anything to let her know how well she’s doing and how lovely she’s being for him, she starts to bob her head.

With every stroke of her head, she takes more of him into her mouth. Tom’s moaning underneath her, his hands gathering her hair up to push it behind her head as soon as he realizes that it’s getting in her way. She’s humming around him, her tongue tracing the shape of his cock with every passing stroke of it.

“Fuck, sweet girl,” Tom hisses, his eyes closing as they roll back into his head. She’s tracing the vein underneath his cock, her teeth grazing him every now and then to leave him shuddering and whimpering above her.

He knows that he’s not going to last long. Tom would give anything for this moment to go on just a little bit longer, to draw out his release for as long as possible. But, with (Y/N) working in quick strokes that have him going so deep that he’s afraid she might hurt herself, he knows that he isn’t going to last much longer.

“(Y/N),” he warns lowly, his eyes opening as she starts to gag around him. Her eyes raise to meet his and it takes all of his energy not to come right there. “’m about to come, sweet girl. Holy shit, fuck!”

He hisses as she starts to increase the pace of her strokes. He’s trying to enjoy the moment for as long as he can, make it last for just a  _little bit longer_ so he can commit this all to memory. He never wants to forget about this, wants to keep the image of her on her knees before him and the sounds that she’s making in his mind for when he’s away filming and the time differences get between them. He wants to remember all of this for those lonely nights where he’s aching for her in more ways than one.

Tom tries his best to hold on, but as soon as her hand comes up and cups his balls—which is the first time that she’s used her hands at all, he realizes—and begins to fondle them lightly, he’s shooting warm spurts of come down her throat as he devolves into a moaning mess.

She swallows all of him that she can, her (e/c) eyes blinking up at him as she tucks him back into his sweats with a sweet smile on her face. Tom pulls her up onto the couch to kiss her, a messy mix of tongues and teeth dancing together until he’s moaning underneath her. He has every intention to repay her, to have her quivering above him until she stands up and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“I think I’m going to go finish some of my reading for class, but I’ll be back down in a bit?” Her tone is teasing, light and lovely as though she hadn’t been gagging around his cock only moments before.

Tom swears that (Y/N) is going to be the death of him.


End file.
